All along the Watch-Tower
by Madame Reveuse
Summary: The life and times of one very particular, wildling-born Brother of the Night's Watch. Gosh, this summary kinda sucks, but it's my first one, so please be patient. Rated T because I'm paranoid.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: This started out as just a drabble, then it ate my brain... I found it sad that barely anyone seems to write about the wildlings, so... here you go. **

* * *

"This is your new home, kid."

"I have a home", said the kid in question. "Why am I here? Where are my mother and father?"

"Look here...", Lord Commander Quorgyle began, but found that he didn't know how to go on. This wildling child's parents had been caught poaching in the Gift. They were dead. But how to tell that to a little lad like this? The Lord Commander wasn't a soft-spoken man.

He settled for the cold, hard truth. "Your parents have been... killed."

The boy's eyes widened and he put a hand on his mouth. He did not cry or scream. He said "Oh", but kept otherwise quiet.

"My men and I have decided to take you in."

"Ah. I... see." The boy frowned and said no more. Wide brown eyes scrutinized the Lord Commander from behind a thicket of brown hair. _Someone needs to take care of that hair..._ the Lord Commander thought, but another voice of thought piped up and scolded the first one.

_What are we doing? _it said. _The kid needs a _mother, _not us, not the men of the Night's Watch, a bunch of thieves and rapists and worse, that is known. Who are we to bring up a child?_

But there was no one else to do the job, for who else would take him in? It was this or letting him die in the snow.

"You don't seem very... shocked." _Just wary of the new surroundings, and alert._

"All men must die." It sounded like a recital. The Lord Commander felt a sudden surge of sympathy for the boy before him.

"Do you have a name, kid?" He had heard somewhere that wildlings didn't name their children... up to what age again?

"My name is Mance Rayder", the boy said, with all the pride of a true wildling in his words.

_Aye... something needs to be done about that too._

* * *

Teaching a wildling child some discipline proved a far trickier mission for the Night's Watch than just defending a wall against some grown-up ones.

* * *

"Mance! Come down there, for the Gods sake! What did I tell you about climbing on the Wall?"

Silence. Then: "...that I mustn't."

"And why is that?"

"...because I could hurt myself?"

"Correct. Did you forget about that?"

"...didn't" the boy muttered.

"So if you clearly remember me telling you not to do that, why did you do it?"

"Why? Because I wanted to anyway." Mance raised his eyes to meet his for the first time. There was a scowl on his face, and in his eyes a stubbornness that would either be his downfall or open doors to him as an adult. Such a _stubborn _stubbornness was hard to conquer.

The Lord Commander sighed.

* * *

"Mance. What did I tell you about stealing from the kitchen?"

"Um... you didn't."

"Right. Because I didn't expect you to be able to sneak past the cooks. You're far too cunning for such a young child."

Said child beamed, as if having received a huge compliment, exposing two gaps in his teeth, which would have been endearing at every other occasion, but right now just was the wrong kind of reaction.

"Anyway, there will be no more un-allowed trips to the kitchen for you."

"Um- excuse me- what does 'un-allowed' mean?"

Lord Commander Quorgyle searched the boy's face for any signs of irony or jest. He found none, just genuine confusion. The boy was bright, but nobody had taught him that.

"It means you haven't asked me first."

"Why should I ask you?"

The Lord Commander rubbed his temples. "Look, some simple obedience... is that too much to ask?"

"What does 'obedience' mean?"

The Lord Commander tried not to lose his temper. "Obedience means that I tell you to do or not do something and you follow the orders I give you", he explained slowly and carefully.

"But what if I don't want to?"

"You do it anyway."

"What? Why?"

By now, the Lord Commander felt like the kid was purposefully pushing him. _But it's not like that, _he reminded himself. _His parents were wildlings. They obeyed nobody. _

"Because I'm the Lord Commander and I'm an adult", he said at last. There. A brief lesson in social dynamics. Hopefully the boy had understood now.

Mance furrowed his brows and Lord Commander Quorgyle gave up hope.

"Is this like _kneeling_?"

"Something... like that, yes."

That turned out to be the wrong thing to say.

"My parents taught me to _never_ kneel! They said I'd be a free man when I grow up, and a free man goes wherever he wants!"

"Your parents are dead, lad. And that's all this attitude is ever going to get you- killed. It's going to get you killed."

"But-!"

"Listen. You're not a wildling anymore. But neither are you one of us. One needs to know where one's place is. Do you?"

"N-no. No I don't."

"No I don't, _Mylord_", the Lord Commander corrected.

"Excuse me again, Mylord. No, I don't know where my place is, Mylord."

"It is here, lad. Your place is here among us, my men and me, we're doing our best to be your new parents, and we could also become your sworn brothers later. What I mean is, when you grow up, you could become a man of the Night's Watch. Would you like that?"

The boy gnawed at his lower lip and looked around the training yard of Castle Black, where they were standing.

"Yes, M'lord", he said at last.

"Then start to behave. Learn to bend these knees of yours. And always, always remember where your place is. It's behind this wall, defending it, at least when you are older. It's not anywhere north of the Wall anymore."

* * *

"Mance... take a look at yourself! You've all but ruined your clothes and _why_ is your lip bleeding?"

"I fell", Mance muttered.

"Did you climb again? I told you that you mustn't!"

"Hmmh."

Lord Commander Quorgyle hesitated. He still wasn't quite savvy with the fine arts of raising a child, but he had gotten to know his ward. Mance was an intelligent, outspoken boy, if he had just been climbing on the Wall again, he would have started a lengthy discussion on why he should be allowed to. One-line answers weren't like him at all. He also noticed the reddish color around the boy's eyes.

"It was these boys again, right?"

Mance shrugged his shoulders.

"Tell me their names, I'll reprimand them."

"No."

"They're my recruits, they shouldn't-"

"No. I've already taught these stupid kneelers."

Suddenly, Mance felt a painful tug on his left ear. "Mance, I told you not to use that word again."

The Lord Commander's pity had turned into anger as soon as his ward had dropped the notorious k-bomb. "Ow ow _ow",_Mance wailed, and the Lord Commander let him go.

He ducked away and hid under a table out of the Lord Commander's reach. "Kneeler, kneeler, kneeler", he crooned. Then he spun around and ran out of the Lord Commander's solar, just _ran_. His feet carried him towards the large stairs up the Wall, all the way up. There he sat down on the ice-cold ground, hugged his knees and started to cry.

They had been four young recruits, older and larger than him, and notorious for picking on smaller ones. They had circled him, pushed him around, chanting "Wildling! Wildling!" over and over, until he had fallen und hurt his lip on a large rock, and the shame and humiliation had driven dreaded tears into his eyes.

Then he had picked the rock up and broken one's nose, so at least that was alright.

_I don't belong here_, he thought. _I don't belong here and they know it._

Down on the ground, he heard the Lord Commander call his name. He wanted him to come down, and probably give him a stern talking to.

"No", he replied. "Go away, stupid kneeler."

He wiped his eyes angrily and turned around. Below him was all that land beyond the Wall. It seemed to stretch on for ever and ever.

_This is my home_, he thought. _they have no right to _take it away _from me._

* * *

The Lord Commander knocked on Maester Aemon's door and waited five seconds before entering. He could hear voices from the solar.

"And thus... thus did Eh...gon the con-que-ror..."

"His name was _Aegon_. You need to concentrate. Also, you need to stop mumbling. If you really aspire to be a singer, as you told me, you will need an eloquent, clear articulation."

"Alright, Maester, I'll watch meself."

"_My_self, not meself. You're still a wildling in your speech. I'm not asking you to forget your origin, but I'll not let you get your hands on any sheet music as long as you don't sound the part, and by that I mean like the educated man you'll hopefully become."

The Lord Commander decided to make his presence known and stepped into view. Maester Aemon greeted him, Mance Rayder merely regarded his presence and did nothing, until Maester Aemon nudged him sharply. Then the wildling child got up, said "M'lord" and bowed like a good boy. He had grown an inch again, and the Maester had given him that long-required haircut. His hair was still almost shoulder-length, but at least now he looked like a human being.

"Are you enjoying your reading lessons?", Lord Commander Quorgyle asked him.

"Ye-es, M'lord", the boy said indecisively. "I mean, it's boring, but Maester Aemon promised me I could read music later on!"

"Ah, you'd like to learn some songs, right?"

"Not some, but all of them, M'lord!"

The two adults smiled. "Maester, could I borrow the lad for a few?"

"Go on with him" Maester Aemon smiled mildly. "He's quite a reluctant learner, and bothers you with questions you don't want to answer. Frankly, I would be glad to be rid of him for a while."

Mance just grinned and gladly hopped off his chair, no doubt tired of the stuffy room and the books in it.

The Lord Commander took him to his own solar, sat down behind his desk and bid Mance to close the door.

"Do you know why I summoned you here?"

Mance bit his lower lip. He always did that when he suspected trouble. "If this is about the disappeared pies, I swear to the Old Gods I have nothing to do with it."

The Lord Commander had to stifle a smile. "Be careful with what you swear" he told the boy nonetheless. "The Old Gods could prove wrathful."

"Oh."

"Anyway, this isn't about pies. Today is your name day, lad."

"Really? I- I forgot about that."

"How old are you now?" the Lord Commander asked. He expected to get a blank stare or an 'I dunno', but the boy looked down at his fingers for a brief second and then said: "I'm eight-and-two, M'lord."

"Eh?", the Lord Commander said, surprised.

"I can't count further than eight" Mance admitted and then explained: "Because you see, M'lord, my mother, M'lord, she wasn't one for the letters, but she could count. And every year on my name day, she took her knife and carved one little line into a tree near our home, and the year she died, there were eight lines, she told me that. Since I came here, my name day passed once. Now it's my name day again, which makes me eight-and-two years old."

"That's well thought out. But 'eight-and-two' is called ten."

"T-ten. Good. Thanks for telling me that, M'lord."

"I will order Maester Aemon to teach you to count."

The boy said nothing, undoubtedly thinking of all the extra hours that he was going to spend in Maester Aemon's rooms. For a moment they just silently looked at each other, creating an uncomfortable atmosphere. After a while, Mance began to get squirmy and finally said: "Can I go now, M'lord?"

"What, don't you want your name day present?"

He just got a disbelieving stare in response. Then suddenly, the boy blurted out: "A present for me? Err, Mylord?"

"Yes." The Lord Commander picked up an object that was sitting behind his desk and gave it to the dumbstruck boy. "My brothers and me threw some money together and bought this off a travelling singer. I'm afraid it's not quite new, but it'll have to make do. Come, take it already. It won't bite you."

Mance gingerly picked the thing up. "It's a...a..."

"A lute for you to play on. I heard Maester Aemon say you'd like to learn to play music. So, here you go."

"Gee, thanks, M'lord!", Mance said wide-eyed and clutched the instrument tightly to his chest.

"Now run along", the Lord Commander said. "And remember to practice daily. Practice makes perfect."

"Yes, M'lord, I'll practice lots."

"Good. In a few years, we can make you a recruit. Then you'll soon be a brother of the Night's Watch."

* * *

**Hey, hello, how are you doing? Did you like this? Please note that English is not my native language, so if you find any horrible mistakes, feel free to point them out. Please be kind though. Flames will be used to feed R'hllor! :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**New chapter! Introducing Qhorin not-yet-a-halfhand! Also, I do not own any of the characters. Naturally. If I owned Mance Rayder, life would be seven kinds of awesome.**

* * *

"Hey! Aye, you!"

Qhorin didn't turn around, thinking the call was not meant for him. He did turn, though, when someone cruelly ripped at his braid.

"Hey girlie-braid."

"Hey tattle-tale."

It was Thoren Smallwood and his ever-present appendix of three large friends. "What do you want, Thoren?", he asked as they drew their circle around him.

"We want to teach you a lesson, Qhorin, about what happens to people who tattle on us."

Qhorin stood his ground. "You pushed little Jaremy around. I won't tolerate that."

"Oooh, you won't tolerate that, huh?" , Thoren Smallwood mocked. "At him, boys."

Two of them grabbed Qhorin's arms, and they started pushing him like a ragdoll. He wanted to throw himself on Thoren, but one of his friends tripped him and he fell down. Then all four were upon him, fists poised.

"Who've you got there?", a calm voice asked. "Leave him alone."

Thoren Smallwood turned his head. "Mind your own bloody business, wildling", he said.

Qhorin looked up. There stood a boy about his age, maybe a few years younger, with long brown hair and quite a plain face, except for the brown eyes that sparkled with anger. He held a lute in his hand, but now he dropped it.

Whoever it was spun forth and punched Thoren neatly in the eye. He turned around as one of the large bullies attempted an attack, and kneed him in the groin. As he came down, his face was confronted with a pointy-looking elbow. Having made his point, the one named 'wildling' stepped back and, in one fluid motion, drew a sword.

"Anyone feeling lucky today?", he asked. "Get lost."

He went over to Qhorin and offered him a hand. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, thank you." Qhorin took it and got up. "I'm Qhorin, by the way."

"I'm Mance. Are you one of the new recruits?"

"I am. I just got here this week."

"And picking fights already? Fast learner, are you?"

"No, I just-" They were interrupted by a batch of brothers entering the training yard. They saw Thoren and his battered friends. They saw Qhorin, and they saw Mance.

"What is the meaning of this?", one of them asked sternly.

"And somehow, strangely, I'm in trouble again", Qhorin heard his new acquaintance mutter.

* * *

Their conflict went before the Lord Commander. Thoren and his bunch placed their hopes on accusing Qhorin of starting quarrels with them, while he tried to defend himself and everyone claimed their version to be the truth. Mance had not seen who had started the fight- although he had a strong suspicion- so he kept quiet at first and let Qhorin fend for himself.

He wasn't doing a good job on it. Although Thoren and his friends were notorious for picking on anyone smaller than them, things looked bad for Qhorin. It was his word against Thoren's, and the latter had three friends to back him up. Qhorin glanced over at Mance and found that he had been looking at him all along, with a calculating expression in his eyes. As the situation still wouldn't swing towards Qhorin's cause, and everyone more or less shouted at each other, accusing the other party of lying, while Lord Commander Quorgyle tried to keep everyone quiet, Mance suddenly stood up.

"This is going nowhere" he said. "I might as well confess. It was me who started the fight."

Thoren and his bunch were baffled, but they recovered after a second. "Aye, it was all him", they started saying.

Qhorin opened his mouth. He came as far as "But that's not-", then Mance looked at him and drew a finger over his throat. He mouthed the words shut up, then he turned back to the Lord Commander. "Aye, it was all me", he repeated.

The Lord Commander shook his head. "Why?", he said, his voice full of a special kind of disappointment he wouldn't show before.

Mance shrugged and looked at the floor. "They provoked me", he lied.

"They provoked you. Seven hells", the Lord Commander huffed. "Well, in that case. You will be charged with arrest. Don't leave your cell today and tomorrow, after that... we will see. I will have a guard set up at your door. Go immediately. Smallwood, make sure he really does go there."

Thoren's smile was all triumph as he clasped a hand upon Mance's shoulder. Qhorin averted his eyes as the bully led the wildling off. He didn't want to look into this smug face anymore.

* * *

About an hour later, at dinnertime, Qhorin knocked on the door to Mance's cell. It proved a bit difficult, as he was carrying two bowls of hot stew and also Mance's lute, which he had retrieved from the battlefield. There was, as Lord Commander Quorgyle had ordered, a guard before the door, but Qhorin felt it only polite to knock first.

"It's Qhorin", he said. "May I come in? I have dinner."

After a brief silence, a voice answered: "That's the guard's to decide. The door is locked."

"Oh", Qhorin said, turning to the guard. "Could you...?"

The guard wordlessly pulled a set of keys from his belt, picked one and unlocked the door. He let Qhorin step in, then locked it again. "Knock when you want out", he said.

Qhorin was met with the sight of Mance sitting against a wall with his head in his hands, huddled into his Black, intently staring at the opposite wall.

"Did he do something to you?"

Mance shook his head. "He wouldn't dare, not alone." He didn't look away from the apparently very interesting wall.

"Are you... pouting?", Qhorin asked, amused.

Mance shrugged. "Pfft. It's not like I care about them. Stupid kneelers."

Qhorin had to smile. "You get in trouble a lot, eh?"

"I never even do anything."

"You just have a smart mouth, right?"

Mance involuntarily grinned. "Aye, too smart for me own good, that's what the Lord Commander always says." He turned his head to look at Qhorin. "Hey, do you really have food?" Qhorin handed him one bowl and sat down next to him with the other.

Mance prodded around the bowl with his spoon. The stew made a noise that sounded like glup.

"Did Hobb make mystery meat again?"

"Looks like it."

"Any clue what we are going to eat on this fine day?"

"It might just be bad chicken", Qhorin said dryly as they both began eating. "It's stew. No questions asked and none answered. But I do have a few questions."

"Ask, then" Mance replied, wolfing down his stew despite the mysterious meat.

"Firstly, what even is a 'kneeler'?"

"Oh, everyone here is. You too" Mance said, and as he saw Qhorin's expression, hurriedly added: "That doesn't have to be a bad thing! Kneelers are just the people from the wrong si... from south of the Wall. It's a bad word actually, I mustn't say it. Forbidden by the Lord Commander."

Qhorin decided to leave it at that. "I also brought this" he said, proffering the lute. "Picked it up from the training yard. It's yours, isn't it? Do you play?"

"No, I carry this thing because it's so damn pretty. of course I play, lackwit."

"Any good?", Qhorin asked bluntly.

Mance waved a hand. "Mediocre. But I'm working on it. I've only been playing for two years, but I practice every day."

"Prove it."

Mance took up the challenge, snatched the lute away from Qhorin, put it on his lap and then proceeded to play a piece stranger and wilder than any music melody Qhorin had ever heard. It lasted but one minute, and as it ended, Qhorin felt oddly struck. How could a few notes, played on an old lute by a boy who could be described as 'plain' at best (by friendly people who didn't want to use words like 'odd' or 'misfit'), convey such a deep... sadness, such a yearning for... freedom?

"What was that?", he breathed.

"It was of the free folk- I mean, the wildlings. One of their songs. I mustn't play them, though. The Lord Commander says they're bad for me."

"How do you know wildling songs? Aren't they, like, the enemy?"

"I am a wildling- I mean, I was. Now I'm with the Night's Watch."

"Oh. Um. Really? How old are you?"

"I'm twelve. You?"

"Fourteen."

They were silent for a minute. Then Qhorin said: "Sorry for calling the wildlings the enemy."

"It's alright. They're supposed to be, aren't they? You got it right."

"Well, but-"

"Let's not talk of it. Now I have a question for you."

"What is it?"

"Why did you come here?"

It was Qhorin who shrugged this time. "I thought it only civil."

"After I saved your arse, that is."

"Yes, thank you for that, but why did you do it? You didn't even know me."

Mance hesitated, obviously thinking of an answer. Eventually he said: "Well, standing by as others get kicked around is not my way. They tried it with me once too, you know. I broke one's nose though, so they mostly leave me alone now."

"Why did they pick on you?"

"For the crime of being a wildling" Mance said sarcastically. "And because they target anyone smaller than them. So, I may have this strong desire to free the world of Thoren Smallwood's stupidity..."

Qhorin grinned, but thought: And you also are in need of a friend. But none of us will say that.

"Play another song" he suggested.


	3. Chapter 3

**chapter 3- This is pretty much a Mance-Qhorin-bonding-chapter. Not slash though, I tried slash, but it doesn't work for these two (I think). So, just friendship here. I own nothing, except for the two random brothers of the Night's Watch that I made up.**

**Also, I got my first review! Ever! Couldn't be more proud! Thanks, reviewing person, this means a whole lot to me! More is always appreciated *hint hint, nudge nudge***

* * *

"Qhorin! Jeor and the older boys are taking me to Moletown, Qhorin! That's the first time they'd ask me along! You have to come too, Qhorin!"

Qhorin looked up from the sword he had just sharpened and mildly shook his head at his friend. In the last few years, Mance Rayder had grown from a nosy twelve-year-old kid into a fifteen-year-old gangly adolescent, still plucking his old lute in every free second, still in love with the sound of his own voice, but also just as feared on the training yard as Qhorin himself was. Now he was nearly out of it with excitement for the older recruits taking him whoring for the first time.

"No", Qhorin answered him. "We mustn't. We have a duty. They'll make us speak the oath soon."

"Gods, you're always so -so- ugh! Live a little, will you?"

"No", Qhorin repeated stoically. "I'll cover up for you if you must go, but I'll not go with you. It's not allowed. We have a duty."

"Well, screw your duty and be happy with her. I'll gladly show you a place where you can stuff your duty tonight. I'm going."

"Run along, then. If you spend any more time talking my ear off, you won't make it home 'till dawn. And the Lord Commander would not be pleased if he knew how you violate the rules. Again. And do me the favor of coming home quietly."

He went back to his sword.

* * *

Of course he did _not_ come home quietly.

Unfortunately Qhorin had not remembered to lock his door, so there was no stopping Mance from peering in in the middle of the night.

"Qhorin, hey, Qhorin", he whispered.

Qhorin did not react. He stayed in bed and pretended to be sleeping.

"Qhorin."

"Qhorin"

"Qhorin."

"Qhorin."

"_Qhorin-"_

"_YES."_

"Are you awake?"

"I am now." Qhorin stirred and sat up under the covers, making a show of being woken up. "What do you want?"

Mance came in and sat down on Qhorin's bed. "I have to tell you what happened tonight."

"Can't that wait until tomorrow?"

"No. You see, Jeor and Jaremy insisted on picking a woman for me, since it was my first time, and she was gorgeous! She had blonde hair and-"

"Does it matter? One whore looks like the other."

Even in the darkness, he could see his friend scowl. Maybe he had spoken a little too harshly, but still. He hadn't asked for being woken up like that.

Then it occurred to him that Mance had, apart from his mother, probably never seen a female. There weren't any at Castle Black and his parents, Mance had told him once, had chosen to live reclused for some reason, far away from the other wildlings. Qhorin, who had asked around, knew that the reason was probably that his father had been a deserter and was being pursued by the Watch, but he had never mentioned it to Mance. Anyway, even if Mormont and Rykker had picked him a one-eyed toothless whore, he would have probably found her breathtaking.

He tried to be a little more patient. "Please go on", he bid his friend.

"We-ell, I'm sure you know what happens in a brothel. Have you ever been to one? She took me to-"

"I'm sure I don't want to hear the details."

"Right. Of course. Well, after we were, you know, finished, she asked me if it really had been my first time, and I said yes, and she said 'wow' and told me I've a natural talent. She then said that she didn't want my money and that I had a gift from the gods. She wants me to come back! And that is what I'm doing tomorrow!"

"No you won't."

"But, hey, did you listen? She said I had a natural talent!"

"Be glad, then. Everyone should have a talent. Too bad yours won't be of any use."

"Eh? What?"

"The oath, Mance. They're making us speak the words soon."

"So what? Words are wind."

"These aren't. An oath to the faces of your Gods! Don't you dare make fun of that."

"But everyone does it! Everyone goes down there!"

"You should strive for greater things than that."

"Don't give me _the talk_, Qhorin. You're not my mother."

"No, I'm not. Your mother is dead."

Mance stood up. "You needn't remind me. I haven't forgotten" he said. "I'm going to bed."

"Yes, g'night" Qhorin grumbled and turned around to face the wall as Mance closed the door. He heard him open his own bedroom door, which was right next to Qhorin's, and then a quiet clicking noise as the door snapped shut again. Then there was only silence.

Tomorrow he would probably have to apologize to his friend for tonight's events. He hadn't asked Mance to intrude his bedroom, disturb his sleep, and tell him stories of his first time with a whore. And yet he would be the one to have to apologize. It was always like that with Mance.

Qhorin sighed and went to sleep.

* * *

"Tonight you will all go to the sept and take your oath. Anyone here who worships the Old Gods?"

Mance raised his hand. He didn't actually consider himself a worshipper of anything –he wasn't the religious sort - but the Old Gods were the Gods of the North, and he had more North in him than anyone else here. If he was to take an oath, he would definitely not do it before the seven kneeler gods. And he had also heard the older Brothers say that if you chose to say your oath to a Weirwood tree, they took you beyond the Wall.

The thought alone gave him chills of anticipation. He hadn't been beyond the Wall for years – ever since he'd been adopted by the Night's Watch. It would be like going... _home_.

"Ah yes, Mance, you" The Lord Commander said, nodded his approval, but also gave him a sidelong glance that had a hint of a warning in it.

_He knows my thoughts_, Mance realised. _Your place is here._ He remembered it quite well.

"Anyone else?" Two other recruits also raised their hands. "Lennett, Wyll, alright. I'll show you the way to the Weirwood. We'll have to go beyond the Wall, _but_", he added as Wyll shuddered, "it's not very far and we won't happen about anything dangerous. There's no need to let _anything_ bother you."

And here the Lord Commander looked at Mance rather than at Wyll.

* * *

**Next chapter: Oathtaking!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter four and we're going to the Weirwood! I've just randomly decided that Qhorin worships the Seven, because as far as I recall, we don't get to find out if he's originally from the North or not. If I'm mistaken here, feel free to tell me!**

**So, yeah. Oaths! Trees! Existential conundrum! And Mance of course! I hope you enjoy it!**

**I still don't own anything, by the way! If I owned Mance, we'd have all kinds of awesome nice things, set up an epic guitar-lute-duo and... I'd rather stop here...**

* * *

They were a strange little party that made their way beyond the Wall in the dead of night. The Lord Commander took the lead, carrying a torch. The recruits followed: Wyll the craven, freckle-Lennett and Mance Rayder, though not really in that order. Mance was up close to Commander Quorgyle, who had given him a light at the beginning of their journey.

"You are the one with the leading qualities in that bunch" he had whispered to him so that the others could not overhear. "I'm not saying that we will run into anything dangerous. But if we do, just in case something happens to me, you see these two home safely."

The other two boys walked behind him, next to each other, their steps hesitant. Most definitely no future-ranger-material. Especially Wyll was attempting to huddle behind him, Mance noticed, and shot him a slightly disapproving look over the shoulder. They were to take the Black, for the God's sake, could these... _kids_ please man up? This was the first time that Mance felt like the responsible adult in the group, and he didn't like the experience. Lennett was more courageous than Wyll, but as they left the Wall, he had also gone pale under his freckles.

Mance, too, felt his heartbeat double as they entered the outskirts of the Cursed Wood, but for whole different reasons. He didn't get what his companions were scared about. He rather felt, as odd as it sounded, as if the wood_ welcomed_ him as soon as he set foot in. Everything about the Cursed Wood, from its wild smell that had hints of snow in it to the sound of the wind in the treetops and the ground under his boots felt exciting... _welcoming_. Do you know that particular feeling when you come to a place that you have never visited before, but still somehow it feels _familiar_, like a childhood memory or a distant dream? This is how Mance felt right then.

_I was probably born somewhere around here_, he mused.

And then he realized something else. This wood, he thought, was the beginning of an adventurous journey, if one decided to take it; behind these trees would be even more trees, and more and more until it got too cold for trees to grow, and then there were the frostfangs on the one side, and a shivering-cold ocean on the other side, and between then fields of snow where you could walk until you died without meeting a single human being. And beyond _that_, there was the Land of Always Winter, where no one knew what _there_ was. And somewhere in the midst of all of that were the free folk, the wildlings.

_This is my land._

Mance felt a growing unease within him. He suddenly found that he was earnestly contemplating running away right now and just not taking that stupid oath that had never been really important to him anyway.

_What's wrong with you?_, he hissed to himself. He had never been fond of obeying rules, but this... this was not like him at all.

_Or is it?_, whispered a voice, a new one.

He shook it off.

_These are just trees. Nothing to get touchy-feely about._

_You have no business here. You want to speak your oath and then return to Castle Black, a warm fireplace, some celebration and your friends. This is just wilderness. It means nothing._

But suddenly the wilderness had a_ voice_, and it was calling out to him. Home, was what the calls meant. _Not the one on the Wall where you will never completely fit in. The other home, your real one, the one they took away from you, don't tell me you forgot about that._

The voice was like a sudden shock, not visible on the outside (or so he hoped), but it shook all through his inner core, which was still very much a wildling.

"Something the matter? You've slowed down", Lord Commander Quorgyle said, turning around.

"Nothing, M'lord" Mance heard himself say.

"Alright then. We'd better hurry. I think we'll get snow later."

The Lord Commander proceeded. Mance looked at his broad back as they went on.

_He remembers my name day every year. He said I had leading qualities. To him, I'm like the son he's not allowed to have._

For a second he envied Qhorin and Jaremy and even that idiot Thoren Smallwood, kneeling in their sept before their seven happy-family-gods, with no weird hard decisions to make.

_He said I had leading qualities..._

He could go far on the Wall. He could become First Ranger, or even the next Lord Commander when he was older. He really hoped he would become a ranger, though. That way, he could spend time in the wild, without having to miss out on anything.

He thought of the Lord Commander. He thought of the two boys behind him, turning to him for safety. He thought of Qhorin and everyone else he considered a friend.

He exhaled and went on. To the Godswood.

When they reached the Weirwood, he could hear the awe-filled whispers of the other recruits behind his back. "There's so many _trees_", he heard one of them whisper. The weirwood trees couldn't amaze him; he had seen so many of them in his childhood. There were more of them beyond the Wall. _There's more of everything beyond the Wall. _But... the wind whispered through the blood red leaves and they seemed to whisper to him.

_They know me_, he thought, _The Old Gods know I'm here._ Whose Gods were they? Were they the Gods that were worshipped among the Night's Watch, who wanted him to take the oath he came here for, or were they the Gods of the free folk, who wanted something else entirely? What did they want from him?

In all of this existential conundrum, his logical mind suddenly took over. Mance fancied himself a practical hands-on person with a take-it-as-it-comes-attitude, and now this part of him took the lead, silencing the others, just as their voices had risen to a painful level.

_You came here to do something. Now do that._

He saw the faces of the others and knew that they expected him to begin.

"On your knees, boy" the Lord Commander hissed.

Mance took his time before he knelt, touched the bark of the white tree before him, listened once more for the whisper of the leaves. He heard only silence.

_It's just a tree. It means nothing._

It felt ridiculous, kneeling before a tree, but he did so anyway, ignoring the horrible feeling that he was making a wrong decision. The other two settled down beside him; Lennett staring wide-eyed at the trees, and Wyll almost keeling over with apprehensive excitement. Mance felt nothing, just the silence, and a numbness in his chest.

He cleared his throat and started reciting the words they made every recruit learn by heart.

"Night gathers, and now my watch begins."

He could hear the others chiming in with him.

"It shall not end until my death.

I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children.

I shall wear no crowns and win no glory.

I shall live and die at my post.

I am the sword in the darkness.

I am the watcher on the walls.

I am the fire that burns against the cold,

the light that brings the dawn,

the horn that wakes the sleepers,

the shield that guards the realms of men.

I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch,

for this night and all nights to come."

Great words. But they, too, meant nothing. As Mance stood up and wiped the dirt from his pants, he was still Mance the Wildling.

The _voice_ was still calling to him, and his inner core had not changed.


	5. Chapter 5

** Yay new chapter. There's been a bit of a delay and I'm sorry for that. This is betaed by my mom (_betaed by my mom, you guys_), and since my mom is a very busy lady, she hasn't gotten around to reading until recently. I myself am very busy too, cramming for my finals, but I hope I'll get chapter 6 up soon.**

**Must I still mention that I don't own anything? I think I got the point across by now...**

**This chapter includes Qhorin losing his fingers, Mance traveling a lot, and more existential wildling crisis. Watch out for tiny! Jon and Robb making an appearance!  
**

**By the bye, Qhorin lost his fingers to a wildling axe. I didn't know that when I wrote the story. I did my research now and wow... Mance chuckles quietly at the irony, but only when Qhorin is not in the room.**

* * *

Qhorin and Mance got both sorted to the rangers. When Qhorin's name was read from the Lord Commander's list, he took his place in silence, ever solemn and dutiful. When Mance's name was called out later, he joined Qhorin beaming, and he could have sworn he saw him make a small victory gesture.

Both were glad. Being rangers would suit them. Qhorin had the chance to go beyond himself for his duty, and Mance could go beyond the Wall and have the best of both worlds.

* * *

But sometimes, the best of both worlds was not enough.

* * *

Qhorin, on watch at the gate of Shadow Tower, sighed in relief as he heard a familiar voice sing a familiar song, accompanied by a single horn blast: a ranger coming home.

He hurried towards his friend as he dismounted, and the worries on his face must have been apparent, because Mance stopped singing and asked: "What's that face for, Qhorin? Bad news?"

"Bad news?! _You're _the bad news! You've been gone for three weeks!"

"Yes, well, how have things been here all the while?"

"Do you listen to me? Not a sign of life for three weeks, and no one knew where you bloody were! Had you been gone for one more day, Ser Denys _would_ have pressed charges. You'd have been over your neck in trouble. Thoren Smallwood and his bunch are placing bets on you!"

"Bets on me? When I will come back or what?"

"_If_ you will come back, and how long it'll take until you'll not come back at all! Thoren and his posse are making a fortune on you!"

"Did you bet against them?"

_I wouldn't risk it_, Qhorin almost said. "I don't bet", he said instead.

"That's a pity. You could strip them off their money. That would be like poetic justice."

"Poetic _what now_? Did your wildling friends keep your brain? They're taking bets on when you will desert! You _must_ see the danger of that!"

Mance had no more jests. He looked a bit lost in thought, his fingers absent-mindedly toying with the mane of his horse. "They're the God's own fools" he said at last. "Don't be an idiot, Qhorin. I'll always come back. I know where my place is."

"Do you promise?"

"...Yeeees."

"Do you _swear_?"

"I think I did already. Remember, that oath thing, few years ago?"

Qhorin sighed. "I'm so tired of covering up for you. These trips, they have to stop."

Mance said no other word. He walked away, and kept quiet for a few weeks. Qhorin felt that he was really trying to make an effort, but a month after their conversation he went beyond the Wall again. He didn't stay away that long this time, but Qhorin had no peace of mind until he, from the top of the Wall, saw his friend's lone horse return to the gate, and the wind brought with it the familiar song of Bael the bard and the rose of Winterfell, what Mance always sang when he came back.

* * *

Qhorin groaned. The pain was too much. Never had he felt a burning sensation like this before, and his fingers, Gods, his fingers... he feared he'd have to retch if he so much as looked at the bloody, pulpy mess that had once been three healthy fingers. Maester Mullin was cleaning and bandaging the wound, and it took every ounce of strength left in Qhorin not to scream and scream and scream.

"Maester, maybe you should give him something against the pain" a voice somewhere said. Qhorin heard it through the red waves of agony, and wondered if he didn't vaguely know that voice.

"Well here's a clever boy" someone else answered. Maester Mullin, Qhorin recognized, his voice thick with acid sarcasm. "Why don't you shut that smart mouth, Rayder, and go and fetch me the poppy. It's on that shelf over there."

"Aye" the first voice said, and there was the sound of someone walking away.

By mention of the name 'Rayder' Qhorin had identified who the voice belonged to. He somehow found the strength to raise his head.

"Mance?" he asked. "Are you here?"

"Yep" came the answer from across the room.

"I thought you were gone. North. Beyond the Wall."

"Just back" Mance replied and stepped into his vision. "I immediately came here when I heard-"He bit his lip and looked at Qhorin's hand, just this once at a loss for words. He looked away again and, over Qhorin's head, handed the Maester a small vial of poppy milk.

He needed something to distract him from the pain, so he thought about Mance. His friend, Qhorin realized, was always... different when he returned from across the Wall. He would move around the familiar premises of Shadow Tower, where they had spent the last few years, as if he was a stranger here, as if he didn't quite belong here, more moody and less outspoken, his eyes clouded with an absent-minded nostalgia that Qhorin couldn't begin to understand. As if he had left a good part of his mind in the wild North.

This forlorn look lingered in his eyes now too, but it was overshadowed by genuine worry.

_About me_, Qhorin thought. _He's worried about me. That's why he's here._

Maester Mullin had finished his work and gave Qhorin the poppy milk that would soon send him to sleep. The pain in his hand fairly quickly dulled to a far-away throbbing sensation, but he still did not want to look at it. As the poppy set to work, the faces of Mance and the Maester blurred before his eyes, and he blinked hard to bring them into focus again.

"Will he be alright?" he heard Mance ask.

"Well, he'll not keep the fingers, of course. But he'll survive."

"What do you mean, survive? His life's not even endangered." Mance's voice had that special edge to it. Irritability. Qhorin recognized that mood. He knew his friend was _so_ close to spinning on his heels and disappearing, either to his favorite spot on the Wall to annoy everyone by playing sad songs on his lute, or back into the Cursed Wood.

"Mance" he rasped. "Will you stay here?"

Mance looked down at him and the – whatever it was on his face – fled. "If it helps you any" he said and sat down by his bedside. Qhorin saw that he was weary too, his Black still bore marks of his travel, his hair fell into his eyes which now looked warmly upon him. He also smiled, that weird half-smile that could mean anything, from covered grief to sarcasm to joy. "'Course I'll stay."

"Do you _promise_?"

"_Yes_, Qhorin."

"Really?"

"My place is here." It sounded like a mantra. It pretty much was.

"Did the Maester just say I'll lose my fingers?"

"Aye. I guess now we'll have to call you half-hand."

"Call me what you like, 's long 's I'll still be able to fight an' you'll stay here." The upcoming drowsiness made his words a slur. Mance smiled again and patted his good hand, fully well knowing that his friend meant 'stay' in more ways than one.

"My place is here, Qhorin" he repeated. "My place is here."

* * *

Mance yawned and sat down on the Winterfell battlements.

Winterfell was an astonishing place, the biggest castle he had ever seen, and he wanted to explore all of it. So he had snuck away from the Great Hall and his Brothers to take a walk on the battlements.

It was an early evening and the sky began to turn dark. It was still warmer here than on the Wall.

Of course he totally knew why he was here, why the Lord Commander had chosen him out of everyone else to be part of his escort when he had set out to visit Lord Stark. Originally Qhorin had been meant to come too, but he still had to recover from his gruesome injury. Mance had been quite reluctant to leave his friend behind, but Qhorin had told him, in the usual stern stance that he had quickly regained, that it was his duty. So he had gone to Winterfell and bowed to Lord Stark like a good crow.

The Lord Commander was worried he didn't make a good crow.

"It's high time you see some stuff south of the Wall", the man had told him. It had the same ring to it as Qhorin's constant talks.

One night, when Mance had just come back from watch duty on the Wall, he had almost run into Qhorin and the Lord Commander talking. He had wondered what Lord Commander Quorgyle was doing in Shadow Tower anyway, so he had hidden in a corner to eavesdrop.

"– reports on him that are not entirely positive" the Lord Commander had said with a grave face. "He secludes himself from his Brothers, and he always sneaks off into the wild."

"His abilities outweigh that" Qhorin had replied, always covering up for him. "He's a really skillful ranger, and a terrific fight."

"And loyal, what do you think?"

Qhorin had hesitated. "In a test of loyalty Mance will always stick to his friends" he had then answered.

"I trust your judgment, Qhorin" the Lord Commander had said. "I really do. But I'll take him along to Winterfell. Maybe it helps his loyalty along to see some of the realms he's sworn to protect. It's high time he gets away from there for a short while."

Mance sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Despite him being only twenty-something years of age, it had begun to gray before it's time, which annoyed him more than it should. He liked to think that he earned a gray every time he had to put up with idiots like Thoren Smallwood (_Small-wood_. The name was a mockery in itself) or their newest addition, a Ser Alliser Thorne, or listen to someone give him the loyalty talk.

The loyalty talk was pointless. He had no desire – absolutely none, you hear that – to leave the Wall. He knew his place. He _did._

But sometimes... sometimes he just got restless. Sometimes he felt like the fortress of Shadow Tower was suffocating him with all that stuffy ancient rules and vows and faded honor he could not entirely understand, and he had to climb the Wall and look to the north just to _breathe_. Sometimes, when he was on patrol, he heard the old _voice_ again.

Ah yes, the voice... it was with him even now. He knew that he was far from the Wall, the farthest he had ever been, and that the trees he was looking at were the Wolfswood, not the Cursed Wood, not _his_ wood, but still... for a moment, he wanted to stand up on the battlements and howl at the moon. But he was neither a wolf nor a Stark, so he did not do that.

A breeze had come up. Mance turned his head in curiosity as the wind carried the voices of children. He followed the sound along the battlements and eventually happened upon two boys, high up on a gateway, piling up a huge heap of snow, waiting for someone to drop it upon. They were both in fits of giggles, overjoyed with the sheer hilarity of their prank.

Then one of them raised his head and saw Mance on the wall. He nudged his companion, who looked up also. The second boy let out a startled gasp and the first one, who had auburn curls and blue eyes, hissed: "He'll tell our Lord father..."

"I won't" Mance said, smiling.

"Swear it" said the other, more solemn one. Probably Ned Stark's bastard.

"I swear it."

"Not just like that. A holy oath, as like your vows to the Night's Watch."

The other kid nudged again. "Jon..." he said. Ah yes, Jon Snow, the bastard. Then this one had to be Robb, the heir. Mance grinned at them and raised his hand to swear. "By the old Gods I solemnly swear to keep this your secret. I pledge my life and honor to your prank, in this night and all nights to come."

"Good" Jon Snow said and nodded.

Mance would keep _this_ holy oath.

* * *

**This has been a pretty long-ass chapter, but oh well. The last two were shorter. Liked it? hated it? In both cases, leave a review! :D**


	6. Chapter 6

**I really should be studying... finals are scary... Anyway. Here's chapter six. **

**Another review! Thank you for the feedback, guest reviewer! And guuuys, I know this has more than two readers. (And I'm glad about that XD) Feel free to drop me a line too! I'm all new to this thing, and it would really make my day, even if it's critique. :D**

* * *

He felt the silly urge to laugh.

Everything suddenly seemed funny. There was a lot of funny blood leaking out of his arm where a funny shadow cat had ripped it open. The red looked rather nice on the ground. Red was a nice color.

The anxious faces of his brothers above him blurred and then came into focus again.

Of course a part of him knew that it was the bloodloss that made him so strangely giddy. _Is this how I die? _he wondered. He smiled in the direction of the treetops and thought: _Well, at least I'll die at home._ Then everything went dark.

* * *

It turned out he didn't have to die at all.

When he woke up, it wasn't in some giant Weirwood or whatever the realm of the Old Gods looked like, but in a poorly furnished wooden hut, and some wildling girl was fussing about by a fireplace. Two of his brothers were present too. One of them looked at him and told the wildling girl: "He's awake..."

The girl came over and cast his groggy, disheveled, only -recently-raised-from-the- dead self a long, peculiar look. He looked back at her. She had curly, dark brown hair and quite a nice frame under her simple dress with apron. He hoped she would say something like: "You killed a shadow cat. I adore you" but she said: "You drool in your sleep, crow. That's disgusting."

* * *

She kept him in for several days until he was strong enough to ride back to Shadow Tower. His brothers insisted on staying with him the whole time.

As they departed, just at the door, he noticed that his cloak was missing. He would have hated to lose it, it was a good cloak and very warm.

"Has anyone seen my cloak?" he asked around.

"Um, yes, I've mended it" the wildling girl said and went to fetch it. When she pushed it into his hands, she suddenly was all shyness. "The silk belonged to my grandmother" she muttered. "It was the prettiest thing she owned. Please... take it."

Upon closer inspection Mance saw that his cloak had indeed been mended – with bright red silk patches. "Why – what is your name?" He felt bad now for not having asked earlier.

She blushed. "Willow."

"Why are you giving me this, Willow?"

Willow fidgeted a bit, then stood her ground and looked him in the eyes. "It's a gift from me to you, give out of friendliness. I just – "and here she shrugged "I just felt you should have it."

Mance ran his hand over the red spots and thought about his red blood on the ground. Red looked nice indeed. "I like it" he decided. "Thank you, Willow- for the cloak and everything else." He bowed towards her and planted a kiss on her forehead.

* * *

On coming home, the first person he met was Qhorin, who for some reason was watching the gate _again_. He looked distressed.

"Where have you _been_?" he bellowed as a greeting. "And what in the seven hells is _that_?"

Mance already set out to explain the bandage on his arm when he saw that Qhorin wasn't looking at his arm at all. He was looking at his cloak, with an expression pretty close to disgust.

_Oh_ _**please**__..._

* * *

"The men of the Night's Watch dress in _black_" Ser Denys Mallister said.

"I _know_. I'm not some kind of _idiot_."

Ser Denys looked at Mance with crossed arms and an impatient huff. "Then I don't see why you still want to keep that piece of junk."

"The wildling woman gave it to me when-"Mance started to explain, but Ser Denys cut him off. "We do _not _mix with wildlings" he said. "You should have learned that by now. Though it may have been... diplomatic of you to accept her token, you have no use for it now. Fetch yourself a new cloak, a black one."

"And what of my old one?"

"I'll have it burnt, of course. It's not of any use, not with the red." He took it out of Mance's hands, but he snatched it back. "No, Ser" he said. "Give it back. Um, let me burn it myself tomorrow. As a proof of my loyalty."

Ser Denys looked him in the eyes. He returned the stare. Then Ser Denys nodded. "Good" he said. "Do that. I appreciate the gesture. Just remember: we do not mix with wildlings, especially not with their women."

* * *

Mance couldn't sleep that night. The cloak sat on a chair with the rest of his clothes. He stared at it the whole night – and made a decision.

* * *

At midnight, he got out of bed and started packing his belongings into a small bundle.

* * *

At the crack of dawn, he slipped out of his cell. He first paid a stealthy visit to the kitchen – he still knew a cook who owed him one. Then he went out on the Wall.

He had thought about how to proceed. The gates were far too heavily guarded for the endeavor he was planning. But up there on the Wall were a few spots, rarely known amongst his brothers, where one could, with courage and a rope, get down without much trouble.

He hadn't calculated that there could be a guard near one of those spots too.

He hadn't calculated for that guard to be his best friend.

"Who goes there?" Qhorin Halfhand asked. Then he recognized Mance and sheathed his sword. "Oh, Mance, it's you. Still wearing that old thing, are you?"

"Yes, I'm... still wearing it" Mance said lamely.

* * *

Qhorin Halfhand furrowed a brow. Something was strange...er than usual.

"I've heard Ser Denys wants it burned tomorrow" he tried. The words hung awkwardly in the air. Mance shrugged. "So he said" he answered, looking at the ground rather than at Qhorin, his face betraying no emotion.

"Why are you even up here? You're not on duty. Came to give me some company?"

He was feeling strangely alert. His friend was still wearing the old cloak... and there was something in the way he stood there... something...

"My shift's almost over. Let's get down. I have some summer wine in my quarters."

"Oh, no, you go ahead. I'll... stay up here."

Qhorin, already on his way to the stairs, turned on his heel and found that Mance stood with his back to him, on the Wall, very close to the edge and gazing down. Something about that sight made his flesh crawl.

"Alright" he said carefully. "Are you sure you don't want to come? You _like_ summer wine."

"I would rather you went away" Mance replied very quietly.

_In retrospect_, I think I'll stay with you for a while. Mance – something is clearly the matter."

"No. Really. I would just like to have some privacy."

"_Talk to me_, you stubborn oaf."

"It's nothing" Mance said, his back still firmly turned, as if he could thus will Qhorin to go away. A breeze came up and moved the black-and-red cloak, just enough for Qhorin to see that Mance had brought his lute, his sword – and he was hiding something. Under his cloak.

Faster than Mance could react, he ran up to him, spun him around and wrought the object from him. It turned out to be a bundle which contained rations for several days – and all his friend's meagre earthly possessions.

A horrible feeling of dread welled up in his stomach.

"No" he said. "No, no, no."

"No what?" said Mance, feigning innocence.

"No you _won't_."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I was just going to go to the other side to, um, to... yeah, to the other side..."

"To do what? To do _what_, Mance Rayder? To bloody _desert_?"

"Look, Qhorin..." Mance began and ran a hand through his brown hair. Qhorin now knew what the expression in his friend's eyes was. It meant _I'm sorry_. It meant _farewell_.

He said neither of those, though. He just smiled that weird sad smile, and said: "It is something I must do."

"But – why? Why now?"

"You wouldn't understand."

And that was it. That was all. Although Qhorin wanted desperately to punch his friend in the face... or punch him everywhere until he stopped doing this foolish, dreadful, wrong thing, he couldn't. He could just stand there numbly and watch him do it.

"Don't" he said weakly.

"And why in all the hells not?"

"Well, _remember that oath thing, few years ago_? Remember duty? Loyalty? Honor? I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls..."

Mance cut him off with a wave of the hand. "I thought about that. Yes I did. And do you want to know which conclusion I've reached?"

"This is – "

"Screw that. Screw the oath, screw the Watch, screw _kneeling_."

"They'll have you hanged!" Qhorin burst out.

Mance laughed. "Wrong. They'll never touch me again."

Qhorin had to admit that Mance might well be right. He knew the wild lands like the back of his hand, and the wildlings would welcome him with open arms for all the information, skill and potential he had. He would probably never see him again.

As if Mance had read his mind, he said: "Pray that you'll never see me again, Qhorin. For if you do, we might well be enemies."

"Never. I'm your _friend_, I won't let you do this."

"If you really consider yourself my friend, step aside and let me leave."

"Oh right. And then what? Cover up for you one last time? And then forget you've ever lived? You really have the soul of a bloody bard."

"I certainly hope so. Now get out of my way."

"No." His good hand snuck down to the hilt of his sword. But Mance saw it.

"Goodbye, Qhorin."

The last thing Qhorin Halfhand felt was a heavy wooden lute making contact with his forehead.

* * *

**Woo! That was some drama there... and drama's always fun to write. Anyway, I regret to announce that the next chapter will be the last one in this story. I might revisit these characters after. I might do something completely different. Who knows! All will be decided when I'm finally done with my finals. Exams start on Friday this week, wish me luck! ;) And thank you so very much for reading!**


	7. epilogue

**I did it! I did it! I completed my written final exams! Smeagol is freeeee!**

**You know how there's two kinds of people in the world? There are those who don't get attached to fictional characters, and those who fall for charismatic main characters like Jon, Robb or Jaime - those who like it special go for Tyrion, Bronn or Littlefinger. And then there's me. Grossly obsessed about some total side character who'll probably die in "Winds of Winter" anyway... Mance Rayder, who probably has about five fangirls in the whole wide world...**

**So, this is the epilogue now. The end. My first reviewer hisan requested Dalla, so here she is - at least a bit of her - _even despite_ me being all filled with Qhorin/Mance feels at the moment. Yes, I sorta remedied my opinion on those two and I think I'm starting to slash them now. A pairing is born! I'll call it "Qhorince" or something!**

* * *

Mance blew the Wall and everyone on it a kiss goodbye.

He couldn't turn around now. This was final. He had made it irreversible when he had knocked out his friend... his former friend, he reprimanded himself. Qhorin had not been completely wrong – he, of course, had a conscience, and it was trying to tell him that abandoning the Wall and all these people who held high expectations on him was a wrong thing to do – but it was tuned out by the well-known voice, the one that always lured him back north, back home.

_This is right_, it said.

Was it really the voice of the wild, he pondered idly as he walked, or was it just his own?

And was that ever important? He was going home, finally, away from stupid rules and bent knees and know your place. He knew his place. He was on his way to it. And it was a wonderful place, a place where he could wear the cloak he had chosen and kiss whoever he liked.

_This is right._

It was like an enormous weight, which he had been carrying for years, dropping off his shoulders.

And the lightness was amazing.

He started walking faster, and he never looked back.

The sky was blue, and the best was yet to come.

* * *

Qhorin did not admit it to himself, but he waited.

The Lord Commander had sighed, Ser Denys had been livid, everyone else was in a state. _It was a matter of time_, hateful voices whispered to each other. They stopped whispering when Qhorin entered a room.

"He won't come back, Halfhand. We've seen the last of him" the Lord Commander had said, and Qhorin had nodded, because he knew that much. But a part of him still held some hope. Mance had often gone away, -

_-not like that though, never like that-_

-but he had always come back. He knew his place. He'd turn around.

Well, some months passed, and Qhorin still sat atop the Wall. He became more focused on his work than ever. He never told anyone about what precisely had happened upon the Wall at the crack of dawn. And sometimes, he'd look across the Wall and ask himself where in the midst of this ice-cold wildland his former best friend was.

Someday a piece of news reached the Wall. The wildlings had a new king, it said, a new king beyond the Wall. Who? Oh, some smart-mouth with a lute who'd been a crow once.

_Well_, Qhorin Halfhand thought, _at least now I know where Mance is._

* * *

And then, many many years later, Mance was in a tent, and his people were on their great march south, and he was braiding the hair of his beautiful wife, who was pregnant with their first (and hopefully not last) child. He loved her hair, it looked like spun gold (not that he'd ever seen spun gold) and it was long and so thick... he should remember to steal some for lute strings when she was sleeping...

Tormund entered, causing Mance to interrupt his doing. "What is it, Tormund?" he asked. "Any news?"

"The warg's just back. Said that Rattleshirt is on his way."

"Is he, then."

"They have a deserter with them."

"Oh?"

"That southern Stark bastard. Snow."

"Jon Snow."

"Aye. The warg says he's killed Halfhand." The news was offered with cautious care, and it made the king-beyond-the-Wall stand up.

"Qhorin Halfhand?"

"Sure enough."

Mance stayed completely still for two seconds, then he smiled. Only to people close to him it would appear a little forced. "Well" he said. "One more threat to our people abolished. Remind me to thank the Stark kid later."

"Aye" said Tormund and went his merry ways. When he was gone, Dalla approached her husband. "Is everything alright?" she asked.

"Fine, sweetling, I'll be back soon" he replied and stepped out of the tent. He wandered to the outskirts of the camp, where he was sure nobody would see him.

"_Who do you think will die first? Out of the two of us?"_

"_You" Qhorin said and gave him a friendly punch to the shoulder. "You're the reckless one. You'll go out with a bang, but you'll go before me."_

"_And will they sing songs about my tragic early demise? What do you think?"_

"_No. They don't make songs about the Night's Watch."_

"_Then I'll write one myself, and spit on them."_

"_You'll be dead, Mance. Dead people don't make songs."_

"_Will too, in the realm of the dead or whatever, and then I'll haunt some poor bastard and make him write it down .And you, you will die an old man, cold and alone."_

"_And as I draw my dying breath" Qhorin continued, warming up on the thing, "The last thing I see will be your ghostly spirit, bloody would in your chest or your head under your arm, coming to fetch me."_

"_Fetch you where? We don't even have the same gods. You took your oath in the sept."_

"_I'm not hell-bent on religion. I could change mine."_

"_You would do that?"_

"_For you? Of course. You're my best friend, you brain-dead moron."_

Qhorin Halfhand. The only person, the only living _thing_ he ever regretted leaving behind. All these years ago.

Of course he had not met the man again, ever... but he had always known that Qhorin had been _there_, somewhere, stoically fulfilling his duty. Well, not anymore.

And Mance Rayder wept a bit, because that's what you do when an old friend vanishes from this world. Even if you hadn't seen that friend in ages. Even if that friend turned enemy along the way.

And then he wiped his eyes with the hem of a cloak he was still wearing, and went back to the camp, because he had things to do and people to lead and people to just generally be there for. Because he was a king now.

* * *

And yet some time later, a lot of things had happened, and most of them would have caused a weaker man to break, but Mance prided himself on still being able to smile; but now it looked like his breaking point was reached, and it was _cold_ in Ramsay Bolton's cage, and he was huddling under the cloak, even though he _knew_ what it was made of. It was a poor substitute for his original one, and it was useless too, because the cold kept seeping in, and there were icicles in his hair and on his eyelashes, his whole skin was icicles, and every breath was icicles. And it could have been a cold-induced hallucination, but he could swear he saw it – the ghostly shape of a man wavering just at the edge of his vision, floating, waiting, smiling but his eyes solemn.

And he could almost hear Qhorin Halfhand say:_ Oh seven hells, Mance. Things have gone quite wrong, haven't they?_

_~the end_

* * *

**So, we're at the end. To all of you who struggled through all these chapters of me rambling and have reached this point, thank you! Thank you so much for reading this! **

**Wow, it feels strange, having finished my first story. As for what I'm going to do next, I have no idea... maybe I'll do something involving these characters, maybe something completely different... let's see. If you have anything you'd like to see written, leave me a note! I need ideas! Thank you and bye-bye!^^**


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